Kill Your Darlings
by sangchi
Summary: The Revolution is over and everyone is moving on. Connor is expanding the Brotherhood in America, thus all should be well, right? Technically it is… Unless you count looking for lost ancient artifacts, the First Civ meddling again, and a Puerto Rican orphan who's a little too smart for her own good. To make some progress in this world, you gotta break a few eggs. Deja vu all over.


**A/N: Another Connor story? Yep, it is. I wanted to try out this kind of character for a little bit and a story that tends to be more platonic than romantic. So yeah, here we are. I'm aiming to be realistic as possible with some of the more emotional moments in this ****story, and to expand Connor's character and personal saga more since Ubi treated him like a side-character. Connor really doesn't get enough and that makes me sad. And I wanted to make a story that featured more characters of color. So that's also a thing. I posted this on my AO3 account (link on my profile). The more heavy material will be posted there rather than on here, so feel free to subscribe to that too. I'm rather excited, I don't know about you guys. Complicated relationships and characters away!**

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**Catalyst (cat·a·list)**: … an agent that provokes or speeds significant change or action.

"If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear." - **George Orwell**

* * *

_"How am I to fit in all this?"_

_"You are the Catalyst, such is your nature and what you are destined to do."_

_"That doesn't really answer my question. Why me? What makes me so special that this task falls on my shoulders?"_

_"We have seen the work you have preformed." _

_A pause where pictures seemed to hang in mid air before the two figures who were speaking. One image of her running through thick jungles, away from the dead body. She couldn't have been more than twelve in that image. A flash and another image popped up of her at sixteen, dressed as a boy abroad a ship, helping slaves escape. A third image depicting her smuggling letters despite the heavy rainstorm around her. The fourth image, and the last one, of her standing in front of her bruised and weeping mother, her arms out wide and a defiant look on her face despite the tears in her eyes. They scream, "Help me."_

_"You have immense courage; willing to sacrifice yourself for others and strive for the greater good in man. We have deemed you worthy of this task."_

_She shook her head in disbelief before looking up at the man. "Do I have a choice?"_

_"You always have a choice. But, should you chose to not to, chaos will spread throughout the world and all the work you and your kind have strived for will have been for naught. The choice is yours alone to make." She sucked her teeth and rubbed her eyes. She glared at him before heaving a sigh._

_"What am I to do?"_

_"Find the cipher, and it will guide you from there."_

_"Where do I find this cipher?"_

_"Its location has been lost to time." He paced back and forth, his cape billowing behind him. "But it might be somewhere near this location." A map of the world projected up from the floor and a light near the Pacific coast in South America blinked. Argentina possibly? Or Chile?_

_She reluctantly nodded. "Where do I start?"_

_"You have already started."_

* * *

**May 7, 1789 - New York**

Connor had only come as a courtesy, not because the idea thrilled him. He avoided crowds if he could help it, considering his track record. But after the persisting letters and invitations from Putnam and Samuel Adams, Connor (albeit reluctantly) decided to attend the ball that honored George Washington's inauguration as the first president of the country. Dressed in his captain's uniform, as that was the only "formal" clothing he had, Connor stuck to staying in one corner of the room. It cannot be emphasized enough how much the poor man detests crowds. Connor saw a few familiar faces and acknowledged with a polite nod of his head (even though he didn't care for more than half of them). Eventually Putnam and Adams caught Connor standing in his corner and beckoned him to join them.

Inwardly rolling his eyes, Connor carefully maneuvered his way through the crowd, being careful not to bump into anyone. That halfway worked till a young woman nearly bumped into him. Her eyes were looking to the crowd rather than paying attention to where she was going. Seeing that she would almost bump into someone, she stopped in her tracks and jumped a little. She was… pretty, he decided. She had wavy red hair that was pinned into a neat bun, large and expressive brown eyes, full lips that complimented a round face with a wide jaw, and a long nose with a slight hook. She wore a thin layer of powder on her face and wore a dress that gave away she was a member of the upper class and the red paste on her lips gave them a more fuller look. Even through the powder, Connor could see her blushing from embarrassment.

"My apologies," she said, slightly flustered. Her voice was light, feminine. It reminded Connor of a flute almost. She sheepishly smiled at him before sidestepping, a movement Connor mimicked as he thought she would step in the opposite direction. With a chuckle she stepped the other way - as did Connor. Both tripped on their words and awkwardly tried moving past one another. Closing her eyes for a moment and raising her hands up, she gestured for Connor to stand where he was while she walked the other way and around him. The young man looked behind him and saw her join another woman a few meters away and, what Connor assumed to be, their escorts.

"Saw you ran into Emilia Stratford," Putnam said when Connor joined them. Putnam's customary cigar hung from the corner of his mouth. There was a slight humor in his voice, as he was no doubt entertained by Connor's almost collision with the young woman. Connor shot Putnam a quick look before looking over his shoulder again, glancing at Emilia.

"She was one of our best agents in the Culper Ring," Adams added. Connor turned his head back to the two men in front him. Since the spy ring was disbanded a while back, it was a topic that was becoming easier to talk about. "Quite the linguist too. She was of great help to Bernardo de Galvez in the south. A very good actress as well. Nearly convinced anyone she ever worked for while in disguise."

"Miss Stratford was never caught?" Connor asked, his curiosity rose a little.

"A few times, yes, but she always managed to get herself out of trouble one way or another," Adams replied as he took a sip of wine.

"How so?" Connor asked.

"Wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty," Putnam said with a shrug, blowing out a puff of smoke from the corner of his mouth. His response left little to the imagination. Connor could only nod in response.

"I still don't understand why you smoke something that smells so wretched," Sam scoffed as he waved the smoke away from his face. Putnam merely chuckled and said that it was one of the few pleasures he had in life and for Adams to not spoil it for him. Sam only scoffed again and left to go join his wife in a dance. Connor turned his head again and glanced at Emilia. She was engrossed in a conversation with her small company of friends.

Emilia quickly glanced at Connor from the corner of her eye, doing a double take and nodding at him. Connor felt his cheeks warm a little and curtly returned the gesture before looking away. He was… unsure of how to feel about the woman he nearly collided with. She whispered something to her friend before walking off. Connor's eyes followed her and she disappeared out of sight. He wondered briefly where she was going, but decided it didn't matter. He'd probably never see her again anyway, so what was the point in worrying?

* * *

**Four Months Later**

Connor often spent his time in the Frontier. He would find perches high in the trees and sit and remember. He would think of his mother and Achilles, both of whom he missed terribly. He even thought of his father some days, imagining what might've been different if they had managed to put aside their differences and were able to work together. But those were only thoughts, and Connor could only dwell on such things before a certain feeling of aching nostalgia filled his heart.

The river nearby lapped at the shore and the wind gently played at Connor's coattails. It was relaxing, serene even, and it was one of the few opportunities Connor had to himself, as he was now busy with expanding the Brotherhood. He sighed as he looked out at the view before him, wondering what would happen next. There was a lull currently in his work; a rare reprieve from the often chaotic work that came with being an Assassin. Connor enjoyed these times, even though he'd rather be working. But even he needed breaks - he was still human.

The muscles in his thighs were starting to become sore after standing on them for so long. With another sigh, Connor carefully maneuvered himself down the tree with ease. About halfway down, a noise caught his attention by the river. Adjusting his weight and position so that he could see easier, he focused his attention to the sight a few meters away.

A woman was trying her best to run away from her captors, but there was a limp every time she placed weight on her right leg. She clutched her thigh, breathing heavily as she pushed herself to run faster. Poachers were pursuing her, from what Connor could tell. They certainly weren't soldiers or any kind of hunters he interacted with in the past. The young woman slipped and rolled down the small hill to the banks of the river, landing face first in the water. The current was too strong for her to swim through in her injured condition, and the rocks were too slippery for her to walk on. Seeing that she had no other options, she practically crawled to the dry land where her footing would be better and turned to face her captors. There was something almost… familiar about her.

Was this woman really going to fight given her injured leg? Connor shook his head and decided to step in and help the woman before something terrible happened. He'd feel immensely guilty if he didn't, knowing that he could've done something to help. The poachers quickly caught up to her and the tallest of them swung a club lazily back and forth in his hand. He was a mountain of a man, with large, wide shoulders and thick muscles. He was probably the one who injured the woman's leg.

"Why'd you have to runaway? That jus made things more difficult for you, see?" the leader said, pointing his club to the woman's hand where she clutched her thigh. "I know that hurts… Let me take care of it for you." He took a few steps toward her but reeled back when she pulled out a pistol that was holstered on her hip. All the men laughed and whistled, saying how she still had some fire left in her. Connor quietly sneaked up to the group as close as he could without drawing too much attention. He wanted to have the element of surprise.

"If you value your lives, I would suggest that you let me go," the woman threatened in a low voice. All the men chuckled and leered at her.

"C'mon sweetheart," one of them said, "y'know you wanna have a go with me." She didn't reply vocally, but the expression on her face was enough of a response. Cursing under her breath, she cocked her pistol.

"_Vete para el carajo_," she hissed and fired her pistol. She kneeled down from the power of the shot, but managed to hold her ground. The ball landed square between the leader's eyes. Slowly the man fell to the ground, landing hard on his back.

"You'll pay for that, whore!" The poacher to the woman's right came and grabbed her, pinning her to his chest, holding a knife to her throat. The blade was pressed close to a vain and even though she wanted to struggle, the woman didn't want to risk slicing open her juggler. The other two came rushing, or rather, at least they did till one of them got an arrow lodged in their spine. The body fell to the ground with a loud thud, one of the arms breaking with a loud snap as the body landed on a bent elbow. The two remaining poachers became nervous, especially the one who was charging to the woman's life only five seconds ago.

"Savages, y'think?" he asked in a harsh whisper. The woman struggled a little, trying to elbow her captor in the side. He responded by pressing the blade closer to her throat.

"Quiet, you," he hissed. The woman fought the urge to gag as the man's breath reeked of salted fish and alcohol. "Who's there?" he captor called out. The other poacher held onto his musket for dear life. His hands were shaking he was holding onto the musket so hard. Another arrow flew and struck through the neck of the man holding the woman hostage. He gurgled on his own spit and blood before falling to the ground. Both the woman and the last remaining poacher looked at the body before looking up at one another.

He looked terrified and pissed his pants. She had a look that could kill.

Throwing his musket to the ground, he ran off screaming with a literal trail between his legs. Taking out a throwing knife from her boot, the woman barely took aim and threw the knife as hard as she could. It struck the man at the base of his skull and he was dead before he even rolled to the ground. With the adrenaline rush over, her leg was practically screaming in pain. She collapsed onto the ground, pulling herself to the river hoping the cold water would relieve some of the pain. Connor emerged from the brushes where he was hiding and walked towards her.

"Are you alright?" he asked as we walked towards her. The woman gave a dry laugh.

"I've been better," she looked turned her head and looked up at her savior. And that was when Connor stopped in his tracks. And then his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Emilia Stratford?" Connor asked, leaning down next to her so they were eye-level. It was her! It was the same woman he nearly fell to the ground with at that ball four months ago. Gone was the refined dress and make-up of someone who looked to be upper class. Instead, what sat before Connor was, what only he could describe, a tough looking woman. She had a small scar on the edge of her left eyebrow and more freckles on her face than Connor could count. Her fiery hair was still pinned in a bun (though it had since almost come loose from running so fast) and her face was slightly scarred by her teenage acne.

She wore a simple linen shirt with a dark blue vest over that hugged her figure. She wore a skirt that fell to her knees and trousers underneath, showing some kind of femininity. Her boots were old and worn and way past their prime, and wrapped around her hips was a deep red sash and two belts; one that holstered her pistols and the other that helped sheath the short blade on her lower back and a few pouches on her hips. Over that she wore a tattered black coat with faded buttons, one of which had fallen off. It was, altogether, a strange outfit for a woman.

Emilia squinted her eyes in suspicion. "Do I know you?" Even her voice had changed. It was deeper and a little rougher, not as soft as it was four month ago, but there was still something womanly about her tone of voice. Was that part of her act? Or… whatever she was doing? Emilia leaned in closer before her eyes widened in realization. "Oh! I remember you now! You were that captain I almost collided with!" At least Connor made some kind of impression. He coughed and offered to help her stand. Now he was even more curious about this Emilia. If that was even her real name.

"Why did those men attack you?" Connor asked. Emilia hissed putting weight on leg, but at least the cold water helped ease the pain. Emilia chuckled and rubbed her nose.

"Ah, you know how men are. They all think 'no' means 'yes,' and consider it a challenge," the replied with a shrug. "The big one hit me hard with that club, as you can see. Nothing broken, I don't think, considering I can still walk. _Ay coño_!" she exclaimed as she tried putting a little weight on her leg. "I don't think I can handle walking on that leg without causing more injury." She breathed heavily and limped to a nearby rock and sat down, holding her leg. "_Gracias_ for the help… uh?"

"Connor," he replied. She nodded and repeated the name. The Assassin stood there silently, his hands clasped as he looked at Emilia with a mix of suspicion and caution. She met his gaze and chuckled. "Okay, you have questions. Go ahead and ask."

"Where are you from?"

"Puerto Rico, more specifically San Juan. I lived there till I was fourteen and then came to America. I haven't been back since." That explained why her Spanish was better than most. While she spoke, Elena took out her hair and pinned it back into a neat bun like before. Her hair was rather short, only falling slightly passed her shoulders.

"Is there a particular reason?"

She shrugged. "Nothing left for me there. Any other questions?" Connor found it very odd as to how she was handling this so nonchalantly. Perhaps she was just used to questions like this from others? More than likely that was the case.

"Stratford isn't a Spanish name, it's English. May I know your real name?"

"Elena," she answered, adding her native Puerto Rican accent to it. "I hate my last name, though. I'd rather not share that if it's all the same to you." Connor sighed and tilted his head to the side. He could partially understand, having some resent to his father as well. Connor never did use his family name. It was a personal decision.

"So why the use of a false name? Are you trying to hide from someone?" he asked. Or something, he wanted add. She nodded.

"I am, or, was," she began. "I stick with my alias just to be safe. It's how I've lived this long."

"Whom are you running from?" She smirked at him and leaned back a little, resting on her elbow.

"You're the one with the hood and the emblem on your sash. You should know. Take a wild guess," she said. But for added measure, she pulled out one of the two necklaces she wore. The pendent on the longest chain was a symbol all too familiar to Connor.

"So, are you an Assassin then?" She nodded again.

"I plan on retiring soon. I want to live to see forty," she said with a chuckle.

"What would the Templars want with you?"

"What they did want," she corrected. "Long story short, they don't like loose ends, and I was one of them. I'd prefer to leave it at that. I'm sure they gave up their search for me years ago, but I'd rather be safe than sorry."

"You seem rather comfortable answering these questions."

"It's not much information for someone to go on. In any case, I'm used to people asking such questions. I don't mind, really. And while I would love to continue playing the questions game, I need to get to New York."

"What's in New York?"

"Personal affairs." Connor left it at that, deciding not to push the issue further from Elena's curt reply.

Elena grunted as she slowly got up, hissing and grabbing her thigh. She stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled sharply. "Help a comrade out and help me on my horse?" Connor nodded and wrapped Elena's arm around his shoulders. On cue, a speckled grey horse trotted up to Elena and neighed. Elena affectionately patted the horse's muzzle and leaned on Connor for support as he gave her a boost up.

"You should have a doctor look at your leg," Connor advised once she was saddled. Elena waved off his concern, saying that she'd have a large bruise for a while and would be fine in no time.

"I've had worse," she added with an easy smile. Connor inwardly rolled his eyes and patted the horse's thigh. "If you're ever in New York, look me up. I want to repay you for saving my life."

"That's not…"

"_Si_, it is," Elena cut him off with a sharp tone and guided her horse towards the direction New York was. "Take care of yourself."

Connor nodded. "To you as well." Elena smiled warmly at him before kicking the side of her horse with her good leg and galloped off, leaving Connor anxious if he really would see her again. He was curious to know more about his fellow Assassin.


End file.
